


The Tol Eressëan Tales: Ring Barer

by Ghyste



Series: The Tol Eressëan Tales [4]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Complete, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghyste/pseuds/Ghyste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo becomes an activist for opressed interspecies pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tol Eressëan Tales: Ring Barer

**Author's Note:**

> Part 4 of the Tol Eressëan Tales - an occasional series of AU humour fics set, somewhat unsurprisingly, on Tol Eressëa sometime during the early centuries of the Fourth Age.

Frodo was starting to get very worried about Legolas. He just wasn't behaving like an elf. 

Now Frodo had spent enough years living with the elves to know that the reality was about as far from the carefully contrived image of lofty and noble creatures that they liked people to think they were as it was possible to get. Elven authors had obviously spent many, many centuries brushing up on their image. But these days Legolas was behaving strangely even for an elf.

Frodo had to admit that Legolas was fairly unique as elves went; his fast friendship with Gimli was testament to that even if one ignored Sam's suspicions as to the precise nature of their relationship. But of late Legolas had become quite inexplicable. If it had just been the rumours that Galdor was so busily spreading about, Frodo could have just written it off as gossip. After all, with all of eternity stretching before them there had to be something to get them out of bed in the morning and if that something was gossiping about their neighbours, then so be it. Not, of course, that they did anything particularly interesting in bed. Actually, Frodo wondered why they even bothered to have beds. They didn't really sleep and, apart from the notable exception of Elrond, didn't seem to have much sex these days either.

It was funny that in all the years that he had spent mooning over Bilbo's elven texts, he had never wondered why there was so little smut to be found in them. Mind you, at that time he'd had no idea that one of the reasons that there was so little smut in the books was that there was nothing much to write about; the elven propensity to spending so much time alternating between writing epic poetry about the object of their affections and criticising said object's underwear tending to mean that they never actually got round to doing anything at all. In his youthful innocence he'd just assumed that they were above that sort of thing and had, rather foolishly as it turned out, tried to emulate them. To a large extent, therefore, elves were entirely to blame for the fact that he had discovered that most pleasurable of pastimes so absurdly late in life. How many years had he spent dreaming of spiritual love and heroic sacrifice while his contemporaries had been getting a practical education behind the haystacks? Yes, when push came to shove, it was entirely the elves' fault that he had remained unspoilt for an astounding one hundred and twenty-four years and what was even more irritating; they'd never had the decency to apologise for it.

Frodo's eyes had, however, been thoroughly opened when he'd arrived on Tol Eressëa and he had learnt that whilst it was undeniably true that the elves didn't have much sex these days, it was primarily because there was something wrong with them rather than because there was something wrong with sex.

Once Frodo had come to this depressing conclusion he'd had a great deal of leisure to contemplate his sad situation and wonder why love had never come a calling at his hobbit hole, so to speak. One day however, whilst gazing mournfully at a particularly large courgette, he'd had a revelation: He'd been in love all along and hadn't realised it. Not only that, but he'd been in love with someone who pretty much embodied all of those fine sentiments that he had harboured as a romantic tween. The joy of this revelation, it has to be said, had been somewhat diminished by the unpalatable truth that the object of his affections was currently married to someone else and was thus divided from him, at least in the short term, by more than just the Sundering Sea.

Thus it was that Frodo had spent many, many years contemplating precisely what he should have done to Sam back in the Shire and what he would rather like to do should Sam ever take ship to join him. Indeed when he wrote it all down he found that it made a rather long and quite possibly physically impossible list, for Frodo was nothing if not imaginative.

Said list had grown to the length of a small encyclopaedia by the time that Sam had finally arrived on Tol Eressëa and, once the rejuvenating qualities of that magical realm had worked their wonder, Sam had scarcely known what had hit him. Or rather he did know; 60-odd years apart not being long enough that he wouldn't recognise Frodo even when he was travelling at speed. Fortunately after Sam's initial discomposure, which couldn't have lasted more than a couple of nanoseconds even if one was being overly charitable, he'd been a more than enthusiastic participant in anything that Frodo cared to suggest.

However, Frodo was drifting off the subject rather violently - something that he always seemed to do when either Sam or sex crossed his mind. Given that one or the other tended to do that for the greater part of his waking hours it was a positive miracle that he could even concentrate long enough to put on his clothes in the morning. Mind you, he had no problem at all in taking them off in the evening or, indeed, at any other time of the day should the need arise. Unfortunately, what with all this thinking, the need had quite definitely arisen and Frodo had no option than to go in search of Sam.

After a little investigating he found him in the tool shed where he was busy caring for his tools. As Frodo slipped in through the door, Sam turned, saying: "Hello Frodo, what can I do for you?" 

Momentarily discomposed by the darkness, Frodo muttered: "Erm, Sam. Something's come up. Do you think that I could impose upon you for a moment?"

Had Frodo been able to see Sam clearly he would have noted that he raised his eyebrows and then grinned broadly as his eyes travelled downwards. However dark it might have been, a hint that large could not be missed. Nevertheless, when he responded it was in a mock-despondent tone: "You know that you can impose upon me whenever you want, Frodo, but I'd be hoping for rather more than just a moment if you follow."

Frodo laughed: "I certainly do follow, my dear Sam, and I'd be happy to oblige - if I could only find you in all this gloom."

"Why don't you feel your way?" suggested the ever-helpful Sam.

Frodo stumbled forward with his arms outstretched, only to trip over a rake and fall into Sam's arms. This in itself was not so bad, since Sam's arms were after all precisely where he wished to be but, unfortunately, Sam's grip was slickened by some sort of oil and Frodo slid straight out of his grasp and onto the floor. Sam quickly joined him down there, running his hands over anything he could reach to make sure he was alright and making Frodo squirm delightedly in the process. With a mind to the laundry, Frodo caught Sam's now considerably less oily hands, pulled them out of his shirt and sniffed before hazarding a guess that what had been on them was linseed.

"Aye," said Sam, nuzzling the top of Frodo's head, "it does wonders for perking up tired wood."

"How absolutely splendid," remarked Frodo as he succumbed to the lure of Sam's skin, made conveniently accessible to his lips by its owner's provocatively open collar, "and, it certainly makes a nice change from the usual lavender!"

"That it does," replied Sam, whose mouth had now moved to the vicinity of Frodo's ear, the tip of which he was nibbling gently, "but I wouldn't be putting it on any of your delicate places if I were you..." but whatever else Sam had been about to say was lost as Frodo made it abundantly clear exactly what he did want on his delicate places, linseed oil or no linseed oil.

***

The next day Frodo decided to go for a walk alone. Sam had offered to keep him company but he knew that if Sam was there the opportunities afforded by the various delightful locations that nature and the Valar had thought to provide would be more than one hobbit could resist and, like Sam before him, he really did want to do a bit of thinking about Legolas and Gimli's plight.

Nevertheless, having strolled for some time without reaching any useful conclusion, Frodo decided to take a little rest in a particularly delightful glade and sat down with his back against a conveniently located tree. Gazing at the beauty of the place, Frodo couldn't help but reflect how very attractive Sam would look sprawled naked and wanton amongst the greenery like some particularly tempting culinary treat just waiting to be sampled. He'd have to suggest a picnic sometime in the near future. In the very near future, in fact, and he'd better be sure to pack the salad dressing.

Thinking about Sam had naturally brought Frodo back to thinking about sex and, recently, one of the regular features of his and Sam's lovemaking had been the knowledge that Legolas was probably skulking about somewhere in the smial. Legolas, of course, believed that his frequent visits passed unobserved and Frodo and Sam were far too polite to set him right - though it had crossed Frodo's mind how useful it would have been on one occasion if he could have asked Legolas to go and fetch the feather duster and galoshes that he had forgotten rather than having to leave Sam hanging. But, whilst the knowledge that they had an audience undoubtedly added a certain frisson to their amorous encounters, Frodo had to wonder why Legolas did it. 

Frankly, until now Frodo had never really bought into Sam's theories about Legolas and Gimli, preferring to remain on the fence as it were. However, more recently he had to admit that there were signs that something was going on between the unlikely couple. Didn't they exchange secret smiles every time he and Sam met the pair of them, and hadn't they turned up at Elrond's party in matching outfits? But what reason could there be for them to hide their feelings for each other - were they afraid to let people know? Frodo knew that a lot of the Elves weren't terribly keen on their brethren hooking up with a member of another species (he didn't doubt the accuracy of their texts on that score, at least) and Gimli was a dwarf - positively their least favourite other species. Sam thought that Legolas had swooned because he was broody, but what if it was caused by the strain of having to hide his love? What if all of this strange behaviour was the outward sign of the internal stress of living a lie? 

What if Legolas and Gimli were being oppressed?

It was all starting to add up in a horribly convincing sort of way. The only question that remained was: what was he going to do about it?

Suddenly, Frodo's reverie was disturbed when a vaguely familiar blond elf wandered into the glade. The elf didn't notice him at first, concealed as he was by the long grass, but Frodo decided that it would be impolite not to reveal his presence.

"Um...hello?"

The elf must have been deep in thought for he started and whirled towards the source of the sound. Finally spotting the hobbit at the base of the tree he pulled himself together and bowed deeply saying, in tones that suggested that his momentary startlement had been entirely deliberate, "do I have the honour of addressing Frodo Baggins?"

Frodo got to his feet and returned the bow. "You do, though I wouldn't be sure that you could call it an honour." 

The elf smiled. "It is indeed an honour. Long have I wished to meet he who bore The Ring to its destruction and in so doing destroyed also its creator. But this meeting is not only an honour, but also fortuitous, for it was for Frodo Baggins that I was seeking." 

"Then I am glad that I was so conveniently placed!" said Frodo, "but tell me, who is it that I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"My name is Finrod," replied the elf, "I think you know my sister."

"The Lady Galadriel? Why, yes indeed!" said Frodo in slightly flustered tones, for Finrod Felagund had been one of his favourite heroes back in the days when his daydreams had been populated by gallant elves rather than gardening hobbits.

"It is on an errand laid upon me by my sister that I seek you, Mr Baggins," said Finrod, "though I cannot deny but that I was pleased for any pretext upon which to finally make your acquaintance."

"What errand is that?" asked Frodo, his curiosity overcoming his bashfulness.

"An errand of the heart," replied Finrod, "she is concerned for the well-being of one dear to you and to her - the dwarf Gimli."

"Why hasn't she spoken to me of this herself?" asked Frodo.

Finrod sighed. "Nerwen has ever been strong of mind and will, but even she is not sufficient unto the tongues of the rumourmongerers. The gift that she gave to this dwarf may have been left behind in Middle-earth as an heirloom of his house but the tale grows in the telling, particularly amongst those who remember her refusal to Fëanor. Though she knows not when her beloved Lord will make his journey, she desires that their reunion should remain free from the taint of idle gossip and thus she has asked me to be her emissary in this matter."

"But I thought the rumours were about Legolas and Gimli?" said Frodo, slightly confused.

"For now they are," replied Finrod, in sombre tones, "but it takes very little talk to turn a duo into a trio. Also, my Sister recalls the discord that arose in Eregion when last she tried to assist an elf and a dwarf. Sauron whispered in Narvi's ear that she was trying to rekindle the admiration that Celebrimbor had once borne for her. The dwarf then withdrew his favour and left his love ripe for the plucking...and we all know how well that ended."

The pair of them gazed sadly into the middle distance for a moment or two before Finrod returned to the matter at hand: "My sister and I are worried about the situation between Legolas and Gimli. It is plain to us that the pair of them belong together, but that something is holding them back."

"Why, how strange," said Frodo in delight, "that's the very same conclusion that I had just reached!"

"You see deeply, elf-friend," said Finrod, "my sister chose rightly when she suggested that I sought you out."

"Oh, I can't take all the credit," replied Frodo, smiling, "much though I might like to, for it was Sam who first realised that they were in love and suggested that we should help them!"

"Then he is most thoughtful and he has our thanks," said Finrod. "I should very much like to meet your Samwise."

"I'm sure he would like to meet you too," said Frodo, "but he would say that his small effort would be nothing as compared to the honour conferred by the interest shown by yourself and the Lady Galadriel...or words to that effect."

Finrod shook his head. "We would not deserve such praise for I must perforce admit that our concern is not completely selfless. Long ago, by your reckoning, one of our brothers loved a mortal woman and she him, but he chose to not to consummate that love. He has been consumed with pain for several millennia and not even the joy of a return from his sojourn within the Halls of Mandos could lessen it. Alas, he tortures not only himself but also those around him, who he deems not to comprehend his suffering. For example, one might say, 'Aegnor, you have drunk the last of the wine and have not replaced it.' 'Alas,' he will reply, 'you do not understand my pain,' or, 'Aegnor, you borrowed my best surcoat without leave and have stained it.' Alas,' he will reply, 'You do not understand my pain.' It is most fatiguing and also somewhat irritating for one such as I who was after all killed by werewolves while helping a friend win the woman he loved and thus may rightly claim to know more than a little about the anguish of love. But there will be no surcease from this torment until the time that the voices of all of the children of Ilúvatar are joined in the Second Music of the Ainur. I would not wish to inflict suffering of that kind upon Legolas' friends and family if I could do aught to spare them."

"Oh," said Frodo, "that's just awful. To love and yet never know the touch of your lover's hand, the taste of their lips, the feeling of their strong arms about you..."

"...never to see the way that moonlight dances in their hair, or hear the sound of laughing water in their voice, or smell the perfume of spring flowers that fills the air whenever they are near," added Finrod. 

"Oh, yes...erm, that as well," agreed Frodo, "but why didn't Aegnor consummate his love? Was it because she was mortal and would grow old and ugly while he remained young and beautiful?"

"No," said Finrod, "he foresaw that he would die in battle."

"But wouldn't he have rather spent a short time with her than all of eternity alone?" asked Frodo, somewhat perplexed. "Once I knew that I loved Sam, I was counting the moments until he arrived and terrified that he never would."

"The Eldar would rather have a memory that is fair but unfinished than one that goes on to a grievous end," explained Finrod.

"I'm afraid that I don't really understand that," said Frodo, "but if that's what the elves believe then wouldn't Legolas feel the same way about Gimli?"

Finrod sighed. "No, Legolas now more resembles the Younger Children than his kin of the Eldar. If he wished his memory of Gimli to remain untainted until the world's end then he would not have brought him to Aman."

"I see," said Frodo, "and anyway Legolas won't be worrying about dying in battle, would he? Not now that he's here at any rate."

"That is true," agreed Finrod, "and, even if the elves placed importance upon such matters, any concern that his beloved would lose his looks to age is moot in this place and could surely not apply to one like Gimli in any case; for how could age further diminish the physical charms of a beloved that is already squat and hirsute?"

"Ahem..."

"No disrespect meant to my present company, for he is surely fair enough to be mistaken for one of elven blood," Finrod added smoothly, before continuing: "Thus Legolas' reticence must have another cause. From his reaction to the tales spread by Galdor and his behaviour of late I have, like you, concluded that he has become too ashamed to display his true feelings. Sadly, Legolas has gone beyond elven aid. He has become so unlike unto his kin that we must look to those who would more readily understand him to lend him and his beloved the support and assistance that they so desperately need. To those who understand a mortal love."

"I must talk to Sam; but whatever we can do, we shall," promised Frodo.

"Thank you," said Finrod, bowing once more and turning to go, "I will say farewell for the present."

***

As promised, Frodo discussed the problem with Sam as he relaxed back into his arms while they shared a warm bath later that day. He had decided that the bathing chamber was the best place for this discussion since that was the one place that he could quite legitimately shut the door against unwanted eavesdroppers. However, there were certain drawbacks to the choice of venue as Frodo's mind tended to wander from the matters at hand, possibly due to Sam's wandering hands having a tendency to take matters in hand. Nevertheless, recollecting himself for a moment and relocating Sam's hands to slightly less dangerous territory, Frodo finally broached the issue:

"I met an elf in the woods today."

"Hmm..." said Sam meditatively; "you would do that around here. Fairly jam-packed with elves, this place."

"Ah," said Frodo, "but this wasn't just any elf, this was Finrod Felagund. He'd come to see me."

"You don't say; and what would he want to see you for?" asked Sam, whose hands had managed to go a-roaming again. "Not that you ain't the most sumptuous thing round these parts, elves or no elves, "he added as they encountered a particularly plump and well-rounded part of Frodo's anatomy. 

"He wanted to talk to me about Legolas and Gimli," replied Frodo, wriggling slightly in Sam's grasp. "The Lady Galadriel is worried about them and wants us to lend a hand."

"Well," said Sam, regretfully, "I would do, but both of mine seem to be occupied at the moment." 

Which, indeed, they were.

Frodo caught Sam's hands once more and held them firmly between his own before responding somewhat testily, "really Sam, you of all people should take this seriously. After all, you were the one who first noticed that they were in love."

"Aye, but it's downright cruel of you to expect me to think about them two with you placed as you are, all convenient like," protested Sam as his captured hands drew Frodo more closely against his body. 

"Nevertheless," said Frodo firmly, "discuss it we must. I made a promise to Finrod and a promise is a promise."

"Mmmm...I love it when you're so forceful," was all the reply he got, apart from Sam's body pressing rhythmically against his backside.

"Sam!" expostulated Frodo, "this is important."

"Very well, Mr. Frodo," said Sam ceasing all movement and adopting his most subservient voice, "whatever you say, Sir." He then removed his hands from Frodo's grasp and set them, unthreateningly, on the side of the tub...much, it has to be admitted, to Frodo's disappointment - despite the fact that this was precisely what he had asked Sam to do.

Deciding to get the discussion over as soon as possible so that they could get down to more important matters, Frodo gave a potted version of his and Finrod's discussion before asking whether Sam had any good ideas. Whilst Sam was indeed entertaining many good ideas at the present time, none of them related to Legolas and Gimli. Nonetheless, he gamely suggested that they might like to throw an event to show the unlikely pair that their friends were on their side.

"You mean, if we can persuade them that there's no reason for anyone to hide the way they feel, maybe they'll be comfortable enough to tell everyone?" queried Frodo.

"Aye," said Sam, "that kind of thing."

"But what excuse can we use?" asked Frodo, a frown wrinkling his brow in a way that would have made Sam want to kiss it away had he not been under orders to behave.

"We could say it's a Shire festival...maybe the Overlithe," suggested Sam.

"But it isn't, is it?" objected Frodo, "I really don't know, it's so terribly difficult to judge the passage of time here."

"If you don't know, then no-one else hereabouts will do either," replied Sam, doggedly logical as ever, "excepting for Mr Bilbo of course, and we can square him as it's in a good cause."

"Of course! What would I do without you and your good sense?" said Frodo enthusiastically, adding: "And since they don't know anything about the festival itself either, we can make it about whatever we like."

"That we can," agreed Sam, "but if we're going find time to get things organised we ought to stop discussing and have this here bath."

"Right," said Frodo, "we'd best be getting on...but where's the soap?"

Sam groped around in the water in front of Frodo for a moment before announcing happily that he thought he had found it.

"I think that you ought to be familiar enough with that by now not to mistake it for the soap," corrected Frodo, although he really had no grounds for complaint - for it was not for nothing that Sam occasionally referred to himself as Frodo's Handy Man.

***

So, the invitations were sent out to all of their friends, though somehow or other Galdor was 'accidentally' left off of the list. Bilbo cooked up a storm while Sam and Frodo decorated their home with boughs of greenery and fresh flowers. Come the big day the smial was alight with the glow of scented candles and the three of them greeted their guests dressed in the best finery that the elves could provide. Once everyone was assembled, Frodo mounted a stool and raised his glass to welcome them one and all to a 'Celebration of Love'.

While the other attendees raised their glasses in return, Legolas and Gimli eyed each other with concern. "You don't think they've invited us to an orgy, do you?" asked Legolas in nervous tones.

Gimli wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead. "They'd better not have done," he said and went to drain his glass, only to be stopped by Legolas' warning hand upon his arm.

"I think we'd better keep our wits about us this evening," suggested the elf and Gimli, somewhat reluctantly, was forced to agree.

The party progressed smoothly; possibly because Sam made sure that he kept everyone's glasses filled to the brim with the special 'lovers' punch' that he had made with a little help from his herb garden. What he failed to notice, however, was that each time he refilled either Legolas or Gimli's glass they immediately emptied it into one of the large vases of flowers that were dotted around the room. The rest of the guests, however, rapidly found themselves feeling so relaxed that no one batted an eyelid when Elrond and Celebrían disappeared from view, but not from earshot, behind the sofa. Somewhat alarmed, Legolas and Gimli managed to beat a hurried retreat when Gandalf distracted everyone by promising to show them exactly what an Istar wore beneath his robes. The downside of this was that they missed the opportunity to find out that what Gandalf wore beneath his was actually more robes, but it was certainly fortunate that Gimli was absent by the time that Bilbo started singing a particularly bawdy number that he claimed to have translated from the original Khuzdul.

Being the hosts, Frodo and Sam had also been abstaining from the punch, but then they had very little need for it. They did, however, remark that the guests of honour were noticeable by their absence and set off to find them.

Legolas and Gimli had in fact taken refuge in the kitchen, where they were enjoying a nice cup of tea - at least until the soft patter of bare feet in the hallway warned them that their temporary sanctuary was about to be invaded.

"Durin's beard!" grumbled Gimli, "is there nowhere that we can be left in peace?"

"Quick, in here," whispered Legolas, dragging Gimli into the nearby broom cupboard, "we should have known we wouldn't be safe from hobbits in the kitchen."

Their swift action did not, however, go unremarked by their hosts - the amount of leather and ironmongery that constituted Gimli's formalwear not really lending itself to stealth. 

"They're in there," hissed Frodo, pointing to the cupboard, "do you think we should try to get them out?"

"They might be having fun," objected Sam.

"But I thought the whole idea of this was that they would be comfortable enough to declare their feelings for each other in public," said Frodo.

"And you don't think that sneaking off into a broom cupboard together in the middle of a party isn't declaration enough?" replied Sam with a grin.

"You have a point," said Frodo, who had begun to investigate Sam in order to find out whether any part of him was making a declaration also and, upon discovering that it was, offered to take care of it there and then.

Though sorely tempted, Sam felt obliged to remind Frodo that this was their party and they should really be looking after their guests instead of each other. "It's only good manners," he said.

"Hmmm," murmured Frodo, "I think that the only useful bit of party etiquette in this case is that you should always keep your right hand free for meeting and greeting," and he went on to demonstrate with devastating thoroughness precisely why this was so important.

"Now," he teased, once Sam had caught his breath, "what was it you were saying about us not being able to spare the time for this?"

"Frodo-love, you well know that I could find time for this were we on the back of a horse at full gallop and you with your mithril shirt on," murmured Sam as he undid Frodo's pants.

"Hmm, maybe we should try that sometime," suggested Frodo with a wicked grin, "maybe Gandalf would lend us Shadowfax." 

Losing all patience, Sam had no option but to tackle Frodo to the floor and silence that smart mouth with his own.

***

Meanwhile, back in the broom cupboard, Legolas and Gimli were discussing their predicament.

"By the sound of things we could be caught in here for quite a while, my friend, so we'd better use the time to decide what we're going to do about all this," observed Legolas.

"I don't see why we should have to do anything," objected Gimli.

"Nevertheless," said Legolas, "it would seem that our friends are quite determined to see us together. They do, after all, appear to have arranged this whole event solely for our benefit - even if they aren't particularly averse to taking advantage of it themselves."

"T'is true," said Gimli, "though it is quite beyond me why they should be so concerned with our sex life."

"Perhaps for the same reasons that you have been so interested in Sam and Frodo's," suggested Legolas with a smile.

Gimli was forced to give his qualified agreement: "Maybe so, though I never took quite such a hands-on approach as they're doing."

Legolas pondered for a moment and then made a suggestion: "Perhaps the easiest thing would be to make it look like we're together and then they might leave us alone."

"What exactly would it entail?" asked Gimli, somewhat suspiciously.

"I don't know," replied Legolas, "maybe a bit of hand holding and leaving parties early together. I'll plant you some trees and you could make some jewellery for us to exchange. That should be enough," he paused briefly, before adding, "I'm not kissing you, though."

Gimli bridled a bit at that. "Why not? I'm considered to be quite a good kisser, I'll have you know."

Legolas rolled his eyes. 

"Beard rash." 

There was really no arguing with that.


End file.
